The Armor Chooses
by blood of the ninja
Summary: The seasonal armor chooses its wearer.
1. Sekhmet

The Armor Chooses

The armor chooses its wearer.

A/N: So, confession time. I've been re-watching this series recently, and I've wanted to write something about it for close to fifteen years. This is my first attempt with these characters.

With that being said, I present these vignettes in the order I wrote them. No more than that. I apologize for any mistakes and hope you enjoy!

Sekhmet

His home had never been a sanctuary, only a prison. Locked away, never seen except when covered by bandages. His hair and skin wound tight in wraps, lest anyone see his 'deformity:' un-natural pale skin, and green hair. Snake child, his parents had called him, poison of the family. Despite it all, he was proud to be different. Now, as leaves changed color and fell slowly in tight spirals to the deadening earth, he was finally a man. Free to finally leave his cell, and roam the earth. Free to spread his poison.

A gust of wind rustled through the trees as he passed through the estates gates. A cold moon shone on his path. Tonight he would taste lasting freedom. Each step away from his family home, weight lifted and power burned in his limbs. Yes, he was headed toward something. Something called to him deep within, coiled and waiting like a snake.

He was content to walk through the night and the day, and any day or night that followed if only to attain the thing that called to him. Each kilometer only intensified the desire. Almost without thought, he ran headlong through the trees, the call directing his steps. A slow jog became a sprint as he ached to reach the centers of its siren's song. His heart beat drummed in his ear, matched by the tempo of the unknown power.

As suddenly as it began, the whispered promise of power stopped as he broke into a clearing, at its center, an abandoned shrine. Boards of wood littered the clearing as though a long ago explosion had flung them away. Where grass would have grown, nothing. Barren earth, poisoned ground encircled the shrine.

He hesitated, ears tuned to the slightest sound. Here? He had been called here, but why?

Slowly, a hiss built as red mist seeped from the dilapidated building, through cracks and doors, out the floor and ceiling. Tendrils of red reached for him, tentatively curling up his legs, twining around his waist. Yes! This had called, this power!

He strode forward, feelings numbed only be revived. Venom entered his pores, soaked his clothes. For the first time, he was alive! Within the mist, a figure materialized; a hulking mass of armor, seated, as though waiting for its true bearer. He stopped before it, yearning to touch it, but waiting for the strike it seemed poised to make.

"You desire it," a voice floated with in the fog, an unfamiliar accent.

"Yes," his voice thick with longing.

"You may take it, but," a heavy emphasis on the last word, "you must pledge to serve me as one of my warlords. Choose Sekhmet."

He fell to one knee, bowing his head as an arm swept across his chest. "I offer my humble services, my lord."

"Then drink in this poison and be welcomed as my Demon of Venom!"

"Yes, Master," he lifted his head, reached out with both hands to grasp the armor before him. His fingers grazed the forearms of the metal suit and in an instant he was surrounded by red and darkness. Venom flowed through him and he felt whole, as though he had waited his entire life to be free to pursue this destiny. Looking down at his hands, he clenched them tightly into fists and released, enjoying how his body looked in its new armor. He reached up and behind, feeling the handles of his new blades.

Within the mist, a door began to appear, but not any door he had ever seen: taller than the forest, with horns and no walls to mark a boundary. Yet it did. Beyond, he could feel another world, a true home for the 'snake child.' He stepped through its open gateway and out of the mortal realm.


	2. Cale

The Armor Chooses

The armor chooses its wearer.

A/N: So, confession time. I've been re-watching this series recently, and I've wanted to write something about it for close to fifteen years. This is my first attempt with these characters.

With that being said, I present these vignettes in the order I wrote them. No more than that. I apologize for any mistakes and hope you enjoy!

Cale

Snow drifted past his field of vision, each snowflake spun on the breeze as though suspended by magic. The last of the sun's rays arced across over the horizon and the hollow ache he felt all day began to abate. At night, he could do as he pleased, and in the depth of the unrelenting blizzard, he was free from all restraints. Free to roam and hunt, free to be whatever he wanted. The important part was: free.

Silently, he pulled on fur boots and layers of cloth and leather, mittens, hat, and finally tucked his sword within his belt. Down deserted and darkened hallways, out through a side entrance, over the wall at its lowest point and into the woods that grew up along the perimeter of the estate, he was a shadow. Cold nipped at his exposed flesh, but did not deter him. No, it was joy to feel that pain. The numbness of the cold as it soaked past defenses.

He penetrated deeper into frozen woods, careful to listen for tell-tale signs of prey. Eyes glued to the white ground, it could have been hours, or minutes before he realized how far he had wandered. It took a good ten minutes to piece together where he was, how far he had gone based on his tracks and the terrain. And doubt crept in, should he go back?

A flicker of power licked at his core. A deeper darkness crept down the mountain toward him and he braced to meet it. Like a slow avalanche, it built and crashed around trees and rocks; it howled his name and finally pulled him away in its undertow, impossibly, back up the mountain. He resisted at first, his savage instinct to wound and kill; only the lulling heart beat of cold power weakened his will to fight it.

The darkness deposited him at the top of the mountain, a bare ring of rock and snow, open to the sky, and a cairn of rocks stacked taller than two men. He could feel the pulse of something primal calling him, his heart beat in time with it. Quickly, impatiently, he stripped his mittens away. Touch it! His mind screamed. Make it yours and be free forever!

Centimeters from the cairn's rocky surface, voice whispered on a frozen wind, the accent strange, "Do you desire it? This dark power?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice also a whisper, filled with yearning to possess that which had drawn him.

"To have it, you must pledge to obey me, serve me as one of my dark warlords," the voice commanded.

"Master, for this, I will be your obedient servant. What more do you ask of me?" he knelt, head bowed.

"Then feast on this darkness and rise, Cale, my Demon of Corruption and Darkness."

He stood, planted one firm hand on the bare rock before him and felt the cold slip away. He was surrounded in dark lightning, consumed by its ferocity. Filled, made whole by its power. When his sight returned, he stretched his arms before him, admiring the armor that covered him. His red cape snapped in the breeze and he surveyed his surroundings with new appreciation. How the darkness subtly changed colors and how bright the snow was in the bitter moonlight.

Where the cairn had stood, now an open gate yawned before him. Head held high, he passed through the red doors, knowing that as he did so, the world he had known would be washed away, by his own hand, his new master's hand, or by time itself. He cared very little how.


	3. Dais

The Armor Chooses

The armor chooses its wearer.

A/N: So, confession time. I've been re-watching this series recently, and I've wanted to write something about it for close to fifteen years. This is my first attempt with these characters.

With that being said, I present these vignettes in the order I wrote them. No more than that. I apologize for any mistakes and hope you enjoy!

Dais

Waves of heat shimmered along the road that bordered fields on one side, forest on the other. He walked alone, unaffected by the sweltering rays of the sun as they drained the earth of moisture. He had left his companions miles behind, those too weak to make the burning journey. He walked on.

Why, though? Back to a building that was not his home, back to the simple pursuits of a life that held no interest for him? He knew he had the potential to do greater things. Just as the bitter reality of life crept deeper into his thoughts, within the dazzling illusions of heat, a light shone in the field, like a beacon directed solely to him. Its beam landed at his feet as a swell of power rose in his soul. He paused in his stride. Like a thousand tiny leg crawling over his body, he felt the call and answered.

He left the road without hesitation, his footfalls assured as he made his way across the field to the light before him, as it moved deeper within its deceptive distance. Yes, this was the call his heart had yearned for, the life beyond the one he had been forced to live of repetitive daily tasks and back breaking labor, toward something greater.

Slowly, within the waves of heat, a figure appeared. Armor, dazzling armor, that seemed to move in the humidity. He approached cautiously, aware of every whirl and click of the insects around him, of the un-natural silence that replaced it as he entered the circle that surrounded the armor: a perimeter of scorched earth, desiccated crops that lay flattened to the ground.

On the edge of sound, a low thump, in time with his own quickened heart, began to increase in volume. This was his means of escape! He stepped forward, his way to freedom and power! Take it and make it yours! Just beyond his reach for the armor, he stopped.

Was this a trap?

The heart beat stuttered a moment, as did his own. And then he knew he was caught. It didn't matter if it was or not, the armor would be his, damn the consequences! He reached out to touch the helmet.

"Do you desire this armor?" the voice seemed to be asking from a great distance, the accent strange.

"I do," he stated, straining to touch, but just beyond his grasp.

"Vow to serve me and you may take it," the voice sounded nearer this time.

Tentatively, he knelt, bowed and said, "I will serve you or any master to possess this armor."

"Then rise, Dais, and join me as my Demon of Illusion," the voice boomed from all around, echoing into the distance as he stood and placed a hand on the armor's helmet. Waves of heat and gossamer strands of web swept over him as the world went dark. He could feel it, like a drink of water on a sweltering day, the power and energy rushing in to fill him. Eagerly, he received and knew this was the path he should have ventured down years ago.

He opened his eye again to see an open doorway before him. No waves of heat obstructed it the way the world around him now was. This was the only real thing anymore. The armor he wore and this gaping door that would lead him to a world more suited to his tastes, willing to receive the cunning he offered.

Without a backward glance, he marched forward, enjoying each resounding step he took toward the gates of opportunity.


	4. Anubis

The Armor Chooses

The armor chooses its wearer.

A/N: So, confession time. I've been re-watching this series recently, and I've wanted to write something about it for close to fifteen years. This is my first attempt with these characters.

With that being said, I present these vignettes in the order I wrote them. No more than that. I apologize for any mistakes and hope you enjoy!

Anubis

Rain dripped off the roof, pooling by the buildings and in the low areas of the yard. It seemed to come in sheets, pouring straight down into the new shoots of grass, knocking delicate petals from the trees and soaking into every inch of his cloths. Even as the water made rivulets down the contours of his face and body, he enjoyed each drop. This was new life, a new year and the renewed campaign. His chance to prove himself superior to all others.

This year he would show himself as the utterly merciless warrior he knew himself to be, finally earn the respect he deserved. He turned toward one of the outbuildings, intent on training despite the rain, when a soft call startled him. Not a child's voice, or a woman's, but like a sob of pain and despair that carried only far enough to insight curiosity. Had he heard it or was it a trick of the weather?

It came again, though different. This time power tugged his heart, followed by a moan of the dying. He scanned the woods beyond the yard swiftly. Then, without another moment of hesitation, ran toward the path that had never been there before. Through the young shoots of new trees, mud splattering around him, he chased the sounds of battle, pulled by the call that wrapped around him like chains. Whatever was out there, he would possess it.

He lost all sense of distance and time, hurdling through the rain slicked forest. His pace matched a beat that echoed in his head and heart. He could have chased the power that whispered promises of glory for many more kilometers when the trees broke.

Within the clearing, over a swollen stream, a bridge stood in a state of disrepair. Boards had rotted thru or fallen off years ago. Yet the path seemed to indicate it still received some use. Halfway across the span of the bridge, a suit of armor sat empty; patiently offering him an empty glare through the helmets styled facial guard.

This had called him. This armor would deliver to him all his deepest desires, destruction and enemies he would smite with ease. All of it would be his! At a slow jog, he crossed the clearing, his foot poised above the first whole plank of wood when a voice boom out from all around.

"I do not think you truly desire this armor," it said with a strange accent.

"No, I do! Please allow me to prove it!" he shouted, then lowered himself to one knee and bowed.

"Then dedicate yourself to my service and then you may prove yourself worthy!"

"I vow to serve loyally, Master. I am yours to command!" a peal of thunder punctuated his pledge and the voice laughed.

"Then rise and begin your service, Anubis, Demon of Cruelty."

He stood, and stepped out on the bridge, his arm extended to grasp the helmet. His fingers brushed the bottom edge of the neck guard and darkness rose up around him. Lightning and cherry petals flashed around him, as the roar of thunder tore through the sky. Light slowly filtered past the guard of his helmet, offering him glimpses of his body, sheathed in its new armor. Power ebbed and flowed through his limbs in time to his heart beat.

Yes, the glory he had sought for years was not to be found out there, but rather, here, with a new master, a new purpose! As he marveled at the energy flooding his body, on the other side of the stream from which he had come, a gateway opened. He lifted his eyes to take in its mammoth size. Twice as tall as the surrounding trees, its doors were thrown back, inviting him to take his rightful place in a new world.


End file.
